


year one

by quick_ly



Series: i lift my eyes and all is born again [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Ableist Language, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, Depression, F/M, Gen, Loss of Spouse, Marauders' Era, Multi, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Smoking, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6319921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quick_ly/pseuds/quick_ly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first thing she hears is the sound of her son, alive, crying in his crib." The one where Lily lives. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead

**Author's Note:**

> Godddd. Jesus christ, I don't even know. Why it is that I have decided to try and start a multi-chaptered Harry Potter fic in 2016 is beyond me, especially considering I really don't have time to write these days at all, but whatever I digress. This idea has been bouncing around my head for probably like five years now, and like, no time like the present I guess. I have no idea if people even read Harry Potter fic these days at all, but this is mostly just for my own peace of mind, like I need to get this out in the open because I basically know this verse like the back of my hand.
> 
> No real warnings at the moment, though if you notice any triggers let me know and I'll put them up. Nice thanks to my girl [thisbirdbites](http://thisbirdbites.tumblr.com/), who let me bounce ideas off of her and made me feel like this whole concept could make sense out of my head.

> "I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
> 
> \- Sylvia Plath, _The Bell Jar_

 

The first thing she hears is the sound of her son, alive, crying in his crib.

The room is hot, despite the front door being open and thus letting in the late October air. Lily’s face feels sticky with tears and sweat and her own shock, and the thought that she might be paralyzed crosses her mind. She can’t possibly be able to move, that just doesn’t seem like a thing that could happen at this moment. Still, her son is wailing in his crib above her – above because she had sunk to the floor when he had started to crumble.

Crumble, fall. A flash of green light and a man (not a man, though; a thing, a dictator, an entity, but never an actual man) losing himself, and then retreating. And she had just sat there and stared and didn’t understand any of it.

The feeling of confusion has never come naturally to Lily, one of the perks (or in this case, setbacks) of usually being the smartest person in the room. She’s always been intelligent in a way that surpassed the norm, always one step ahead of the people around her. She hasn’t felt this utterly unsure since she was a small child and could make a dead flower bloom in her hand.

The memory makes her shutter in this moment – it feels like a lifetime again, before she knew she was a witch. Before Hogwarts and James and Dumbledore, before Alice and Sirius and Remus and Severus and Harry, oh god Harry…

Slowly, mustering all the energy she’s got, Lily stands up. She takes Harry in her arms – Harry, her beautiful boy, who is hers and perfect and so very alive – and sits back down again in the space spot. She cradles her son and strokes his hair, and after a moment, notices the scar. It’s bright, brand new, shaped almost perfectly like a lightning bolt, and immediately she thinks how James will joke and say it looks cool, makes Harry look like he’s a real tough man and all that.

No, that’s not true. _Would_ joke. Lily runs a finger over the scar, and then, taking a deep breath, she leans back and looks into the hall.

He’s lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face. His eyes are open, but there is nothing in them, no jokes or laughs or life. She’d imagined him dead before, of course: her worst nightmares, her greatest fears. A week before they went into hiding she happened upon a Bogart, and quite suddenly Dead Harry and Dead James had been in front of her.

She had come home and hugged James very tightly that night, not telling him what she had saw, but he had known. James always knows, is the problem. He knows her too well, like the back of his hand, and has for years. He probably knows her better than he knows himself…

No, stop. Scratch that. He knew her. Past tense. Lily makes the clarification in her head while staring at her dead husband, because James is laying in front of her and he is very dead, and it is so completely and utterly worse than any of her dreams and fears and Bogarts.

She does not sob, but it’s simply because she doesn’t have the energy to sob. She’s breathing slowly, but not at a normal pace. Her eyes are drenched, but only a couple tears have made their way down her cheeks. She turns her head away from her dead husband (she can’t stop running the phrase over in her head, my dead husband, my dead husband, my husband who was once alive but is now dead), and leans into her alive son, and she presses a kiss to his forehead. To his scar.

She feels as though her entire world has crumbled in on itself, but she has Harry. She has her beautiful baby boy.

Lily has Harry, and Lily waits.


	2. day one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first twenty-four hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to apologize. Just, like, let me have this.

_one hour after_

 

Sirius finds her.

(Sirius always finds her.)

She sits there in silence for an hour, cradling her baby, trying to formulate anything even vaguely similar to a coherent thought about the situation she is in, but it’s all in vain. She’s not going to figure this one out, or come up with any smart ideas, or bring her husband back. None of this feels real, and yet Lily is smart, always has been, and she simply isn’t capable of pretending (even just to herself) that she doesn’t get it. There are plenty of things she doesn’t understand at the moment, but James’ place in the world is not one of them.

James’ place in the world doesn’t exist anymore because he is dead.

Harry has stopped wailing at this point, is sleeping soundly in his mother’s arms. Lily is clinging to him like her life depends on it, which really, all things considered, it probably does. She’s never felt so emotionally pulled in her life, because the pain she feels at James’ death is unreal, and yet here is Harry, her son and her child and her everything, and he is alive and he is sleeping and he is safe. And Lily has never felt so completely relieved while also heartbroken at the same time. It’s exhausting.

But then through it all she hears the sound of his motorbike, and Lily realizes quite suddenly that she’s been waiting for it.

Sirius loves his motorbike, almost has much as he loves James and Lily and Harry (and _god_ , it occurs to her that in that moment right there, he doesn’t yet know that James is dead, and her heart breaks). He tends to it all the damn time, showing it off to James and Lily whenever he visits. He had got the idea from the time in seventh year when Lily and Sirius had snuck off campus into Muggle London; Lily had gotten them Sex Pistols tickets (well, technically, she had won them by calling a radio show over the summer, and then October had rolled around and none of her friends were at all interested, but Sirius had overheard and promptly fallen out of his chair with envy), and they’d been wandering around the venue, taking in the scene and ingesting things they probably shouldn’t have, when he saw it. Some guy was parking his outside, and Sirius got a peak and it was like the scene in all those movies where the guy lays his eyes on his love and the world stops. But the guy was Sirius Black and his love was a goddamn motorcycle.

He loved his motorbike more than he loved any girlfriend, making sure it was always nice and tidy and showing it off whenever possible. He’d clap a hand on James’ back and explain it all, but Lily always knew he was talking to her, because she was the one who got it. James could give a shit about mechanics, and would usually find an excuse to go inside, but Lily would stay and listen, pointing out the bits she found cool and laughing at all his dumb jokes.

The memory stings and makes her heart wrench a little bit. Sneaking out of Hogwarts to that concert feels like a lifetime ago. Her and Sirius were barely friends at that point, just two people who vaguely knew each other but happened to have the same taste in music. They’d gotten drunk and high that night, and Lily can very distinctly remember jumping on his back to get a better view of the band, and laughing with him, wasted, in the corridors after they’d snuck back into school. That had been the day that they went from people who knew each other to actual friends, she thinks. That had been when she’d realized that they were far more alike than different.

Now. Now it’s 1981, and she can hear him stepping into the house. A part of her thinks it would be proper to get up and meet him, to make sure he knows that her and Harry are alright. But she really doesn’t have the energy, and after all, it would seem intrusive. He needs his moment with James, his best friend who is no longer his best friend because he is dead. They will be together in a second and he will cry tears of joy and probably plant giant kisses on them both, but right now she will not go out. Right now isn’t about.

From down the hall, she hears a strong intake of breath, followed by a loud sob. Tears start falling again, and she’s cradling her son, she’s rocking him back and forth and breathing very quickly and kissing the top of his head, and then she hears a noise and looks up, and Sirius is right there.

She’s seen him cry before of course, because this is war and people die and Sirius Black, despite the persona he tries to put on, is a man who cares very much about people, who does not react with grace at the knowledge that someone has been killed who shouldn’t have been (so, most people). The worst had been when he learned of Regulus’ death – he had smashed about ten beer bottles and gotten pissed off his rocker, eventually collapsing in James’ arms, sobbing _it’s my bloody fault_ over and over again. James and Lily had taken him back to his flat, and after making himself sick on the bathroom floor, his head ended up in her lap, crying and mumbling, half asleep.

He’d been sick again the next morning, but none of them talked about it. He had talked Quidditch with James while Lily watched the morning news on the telly (the telly that she’d made Sirius get, practically thrusting it upon him under some false pretense of him needing to keep up with the Muggle news, saying that owning a single television was a lot easier than buying the paper every day, but really she just wanted to be able to watch it during the times when they were over and the boys were talking Quidditch and she’d finished the paper and wanted something to do), and they all smiled sullenly and ate biscuits and didn’t talk about the evening’s events.

That was then, but this is now. This is 1981. This time, the tears are different. He’s not quite at the sobbing place yet, but Lily thinks he’ll get there. His eyes land on her and Harry, and she can’t explain it, but she tries to convey on her face that she doesn’t fucking understand any of what’s just happened, the death and the living and the pain. Sirius, through his hurt, lets out what she can only describe as a breath of relief.

“Oh, thank god.”

In a single swift moment, he’s by them, kissing Harry on the forehead, examining the scar. Both of their breathing is off, and he pushes a piece of her hair behind her eye. Almost instinctively, she tries to give an explanation.

“Sirius, he was here and he was him, and and and he tried to kill Harry, and I fought, I stood in front, but then, I don’t understand, he cast the curse but it didn’t take, or it did but it rebounded and and and.”

Sirius’ eyes widen. “He’s dead?”

“No,” she says surely, shaking her dead. “He’s not dead. He’s… something has happened to him, and he sort of shriveled and crumbled, you know, I think he’ll be gone for a bit, I mean he couldn’t kill Harry.” The words hang on her tongue, and she feels a slight shiver at the thought. Sirius has the same reaction, if his tightening clasp on her shoulder is any indication. “But he’s not dead.”

He’s not looking at her now, though his hand it still tight on her shoulder. He’s looking at Harry and his new scar, which still looks like it must burn. He looks determined, in that way that he gets (in that way that they both get, really, often her more so than him), where she knows there is no use fighting or trying to reason. She knows what he is thinking.

“Right,” he says, nodding his head, stroking her shoulder. “Right.”

“Sirius…” it’s breathy, and she thinks that if he didn’t know her so well he’d think it was confused, but really it’s a warning. He’s standing up, a moment later pacing the room, breathing heavily. “Sirius,” she says again, but she knows it’ll make no difference.

He’d sending a Patronus now, uttering the words with such a grip that Lily knows he is struggling. “Voldemort has fallen, Harry and Lily are alive. James is dead.” The last part comes out through gritted teeth.

When it’s gone, he stands there still for a couple minutes, and Lily gets the feeling that he’s making his decision, his final call.

“I’m gonna kill em’.”

“No.”

Sirius doesn’t look at her. Lily stares at his fist, and suddenly realizes that he’s shaking.

“He’s a filthy traitor, and he needs to be finished.”

“Sirius.” This time, it comes out like a choke.

“Everything we did for him… all the times James and I defended him, fought off his bullies, included him.” Sirius shakes his dead, the anger quite palpable on his face. “He needs to die for what he has done.”

Lily doesn’t disagree necessarily, which is probably part of the problem. She knows were Wormtail here at this very moment, she’d attack him, strangle him to death, fetch the kitchen knife and slit his throat. Ruthless is what Sirius called her, the first time he saw Lily beat a Death Eater within an inch of his life. The joke was that everyone always thought she was the sweet one; the boys could at times be tough and violent, and she settled them. In reality, she’d always do the most damage.

So she understands Sirius’ sentiment, really, but she’s too damn smart to think it’s a good idea. This was planned, this was thought out. Wormtail probably knows that Sirius is going to go after him, is probably expecting it. It’s a trap.

But Sirius is still going on, still ranting. “He must have pissed himself when we asked him to be Secret Keeper, must’ve practically came in his pants when he told his precious master–”

“Sirius–”

“We’ve known there’s been a spy for over a year, and never once did we think–”

“Hey–”

“God, I actually thought it might be Moony. I didn’t know if I could trust him, but I never even stopped to think that Wormtail–”

“–Sirius!”

But he’s not listening at all, so determined on the hunt, on the kill. He looks down suddenly at the two of them, but it’s not to pay her words any mind, this simply isn’t the time for that. He sucks in a breath, starts stalking out of the room.

“He’s a dead man,” he says, clearly more to himself than her. She chokes out his name a few more times, shouting it at the end, but it doesn’t matter. He’s disapparated away, too focused in his mission to even bother with his precious motorbike. Lily knows not long from now Remus will probably show up, or possibly Dumbledore. She’s no idea who he sent his Patronus too, but it won’t be long before someone stumbles in and takes her away, starts trying to pin down a story.

But they’re not there yet, and Sirius is gone, his _crack_ waking Harry up. He’s just started crying again, and instinctively, Lily finds herself rocking back and forth, patting his back.

“Shhh, shhh,” she coos. “Everything is fine.”

It’s not, of course. Lily is alone, and everything is as far from fine as possible.

 

 

 

_two hours after_

 

In actuality, it’s Hagrid who ends up fetching her. He’s very him about the whole thing, meaning he is very sweet and kind-hearted and cries a lot, and gives her a hard clap on the back that almost makes her fall over. Lily almost feels the urge to comfort him, but it’s not quite enough; she’s just a little too numb for that at the moment.

“Lupin is with Dumbledore,” he tells her when she asks about him. “He wan’ed ter come an’ get yeh himself, but headmaster was firm, yes he was. Said that I was to get you, an’ Lupin was ter stay at the caste.”

So they’re going to Hogwarts. Of course they are.

“Where is Black?” he asks, indicating to the motorbike.

Lily shrugs. “Off doing something very stupid, I should think.” He gives her a confused look, and Lily tries to muster a smile. “Why don’t we take his bike to school. I’m sure he’d be fine with it.”

Hagrid, for his part, seems to question the idea only for a moment, before picking Lily up quite carefully (as not to disturb the sleeping Harry in her arms) and setting her on the bike. In another second he climbs on it as well, and Lily is closing her eyes. She will not look down at the shattered remains of her life and her house.

She’d considered making a scene earlier, refusing to leave James’ body. She’d stood over it for a long while, before Hagrid, through tears, had told her it was best to leave him, that the ministry and Dumbledore would figure something out. He had strict orders, he told her, to bring her and Harry up to the school as soon as possible. There was no mention of what to do with the body.

 _Of course there wasn’t_ , Lily thought bitterly in the air now. James’ body has no purpose, now that it can’t do anything.

She cries silent tears during the whole of their drive. They can’t possibly be heard of Hagrid’s monstrous ones.

 

 

 

_three hours after_

 

She’s not concerned with anyone else, with making a fuss or reassuring. That can come later, once things are settles and still and the feeling of heartbreak isn’t coursing through her body. Still, she sees him, and she needs to explain, needs to make sure he knows they’re on the same page.

A second after she sees Remus, her arms are around his head. They’re embracing, he’s stroking Harry’s hair. She grabs the back of his neck and whispers:

“Wormtail was the Secret Keeper, Padfoot is innocent.”

A feeling of relief washes over his face, followed by one of sheer betrayal, and neither one of them need to mention that, if one of their lot were to be a traitor, it’s a lot easier to stomach Peter than Sirius.

He looks around the room again. People are staring, of course, so when he speaks it’s a whispers.

“And Padfoot is…?

Lily sighs. “Doing exactly what we would expect of him.”

There’s a familiar nod between the two of them. They know what’s coming.

 

 

 

_six hours after_

 

She’s alone again, sitting outside Dumbledore’s office. Down the hall, she can hear someone coming. They’re stopped by the auror who is guarding her (from what, Lily has no idea, considering the fact that Voldemort is good and gone at this point), but they’re let through.

Severus Snape emerges.

He’s thinner than she remembers, but they haven’t seen each other for a few years, so. She’s not shocked to see him exactly – Dumbledore had mentioned to her, privately, that he was a spy, that he was on their side, and Lily being the near-genius that she is, had gathered that it was probably on his information that they had gone into hiding, just considering the timing of it all. She hadn’t had an interest in speaking to him or seeking him out, there wasn’t very much to say.

It was always shocking to her, the way that he had been so incredibly present in so many parts of her life. He had been a rock, he had been solid. Even when he was flimsy, he was always there. But the recent part, the James and Sirius and Remus and Harry and _Peter_ years, the time that she had been so in the war and so brutal, and yet somehow so happy, this part had been without him. The years that seemed to matter were completely void of him, except for those times when he’d creep into her mind.

It was odd, in a way, but not exactly bad. She doesn’t know.

He’s standing in front of her now, in 1981, his eyes desperate and needy and slightly hopeful. He breaths her name, “Lily,” and the thought occurs to her, that this is what he wanted. He wanted James dead and for Lily to be his.

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” she says suddenly. She looks away, down at her child, the person who she loves most in the world. She doesn’t hate Severus at all really, but in this moment she can’t think of anything less appealing than discussing her dead husband with the person who hated him most in the world.

Severus stands there for a few more moments, probably in shock and hurt, but she pays him no mind. A minute later she can hear him leaving, briskly. Lily can’t muster the energy to feel sorry for hurting his feelings.

 

 

 

_fifteen hours after_

 

The portraits in Dumbledore’s office are all looking at her sympathetically. In the corner, the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, has an expression of pity. Remus is standing behind her, by the door. Professor McGonagall is there as well, as are several aurors, none of whom she knows well. Harry is in her arms; Lily thinks he might prefer to be playing with his toy dragon at the moment, but after her night, she couldn’t possibly let him out of her arms. Sirius is sitting besides her, handcuffed. Dumbledore sits at his desk, giving Lily the same kind of look she assumes he gives naughty students. Lily wouldn’t know, of course: she rarely broke the rules in school, and when she did, she was always far too smart to get caught.

Still. Nearly everyone in the room is looking at her in the way that you would expect to be looked at if your husband was just murdered, save for Sirius, who is just looking at his hands. At this moment, Lily thinks nothing would make her feel any better than slapping someone hard against the face, or alternatively, having a smoke. She’ll definitely have to do the latter before the day is out.

“So,” Dumbledore starts, and he does it in that way that so clearly is normally used with a child, it turns Lily’s nerves over. “Would you mind repeating yourself?”

Lily bites her bottom lip, shoots Sirius a nasty look.

“Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper.”

The room is still as quite as it gets, save for Harry making noises and grabbing at her fingers. The aurors are looking at each other as though this is a joke, the possibly of Sirius not being their killer quite impossible. Bagnold looks about the same. Lily wants to shoot something.

“We figured,” she starts up again, removing Harry’s hand from her hair, “that Voldemort” – there’s a sharp intake of breath from half of the room when she utters his name, but Lily couldn’t care less – “would be less likely to assume Peter. Everyone knows about Sirius and James’ friendship, and he was the obvious option, really” – Dumbledore quirks an eyebrow – “but Peter… no one would have seen that coming. We were the only four that knew.”

No one says anything for a moment, and Lily sighs, annoyed. She’s already told this story several times, having to start over as more people entered the room. She’s tired and stressed, and her goddamn husband was alive twenty-four hours ago and now he is not. This is really the last thing she wants to be doing at the moment.

“Why only the four of you?” Dumbledore asks. Lily detects something resembling betrayal in his voice.

“We figured it would be better if as little people knew as possible.” She says it to the headmaster’s face, but it’s directed at Remus. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sirius turning around to look at him.

The minister shuffles awkwardly, and Lily can see that she’s going to need to put up a goddamn fight.

_Fuck._

“Mrs. Potter,” she says. “You’ve had a very long day. You might not be as…” – she contemplates her words, though Lily knows that _sane_ is what she’s getting at – “clear-headed as you normally are.”

Sirius lets out an annoyed breath, which earns him an angry shuffle from one of the aurors. Lily looks Dumbledore straight in the eyes, quirks an eyebrow. She’s still looking him in the eye when she mutters, “I know what I fucking know.” Turning to Bagnold, staring her down, “and I’m not goddamn unhinged, but thank you so much for your concern.”

Lily knows immediately that this was not the thing to say, but she honesty doesn’t care. She thinks the dead husband card gets her out of this. Bagnold is looking haughty, offended. The aurors exchange a looks that says they think she’s off her rocker. Lily can practically hear McGonagall trembling behind her, but she’s still staring at Dumbledore with intent.

“Twelve muggles,” Bagnold exclaims, huffy. “Dead!”

“That’s Pettigrew’s doing,” Sirius speaks up for the first time, angrily, but he’s quickly shut up by the aurors.

Bagnold goes on as if he hadn’t spoken. “They’re all dead, and you wouldn’t believe the trouble we’re having, wiping all the muggle’s memories.” She gives an indignant huff, crossing her arms, turning to Sirius, as if she has now decided to grace his words with a response. “And that poor Pettigrew is dead as well, you know, thanks to him,” she motions to Sirius. “All we can find is a finger, sad fellow. Don’t see how you can explain that one.”

Suddenly, Lily is starting to feel quite desperate, and the words slip out before she knows what hits her, before any thought can go into the matter. “They’re animagi. The three of them did it at school, so that they could be with Remus during the full moon.” She can practically see the look of betrayal on Remus’ face at the moment, knows that more than anything he never wanted Dumbledore to know. None of them did. She’d figured it out during school, before any of them were even friends, and had covered for them more than once.

The room is all shocked, Dumbledore turning his stare away from Lily, who feels the guilt pounding in on herself but _doesn’t care_ , to look at Remus. Bagnold still seems haughty, Sirius shameful, the aurors intrigued.

McGonagall is the first one to speak. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

“Yes it is,” Sirius says, sitting up, and Lily is grateful that he’s finally taking a lead. “We spent years working on it, me and James doing most of the work, obviously. There were books in the library, and we nicked some of our own.”

“James was a stag, Sirius a black dog, Peter was–”

“A rat,” Sirius grits through his teeth. “Fitting really.”

There is a pause for a moment, everyone taking the information in, Lily, Sirius, and Remus sitting awkwardly. Unsurprisingly, Bagnold seems the least inclined to believe.

“Things like that don’t just _happen_ ,” she says, exasperated. “There’s a process and paperwork and registration!”

Sirius practically laughs, earning him a glare from the minister. “We couldn’t very well register ourselves, now could we,” he says, more so to Dumbledore than Bagnold. “We were three punk teenagers transforming ourselves so that we could hang with our werewolf best mate during the full moon.”

Dumbledore slightly raises an eyebrow. “Fair point.”

Bagnold, however, just huffs. “I don’t believe it.”

Lily sits back, letting out an annoyed breath. Harry is still cooing in her lap, clearly desperate to roam around on the floor. She looks over at Sirius, who has turned to look at her, and they do that thing they do sometimes where they read each other minds, only without occumency.

Suddenly, a lot of things happen at once. A lot of screams, a couple of incoherent shouting and curses, the sound of little Harry giggling, and a giant black dog, walking around the room and wagging his tail. He takes a turn about the room as nearly everyone makes a fuss, stopping my Harry to lick his face, and after a moment, jumps back into his chair, staring Dumbledore in the face. He kicks his cuffs to the floor, causing the aurors to make an uproar, and a second later is back to being a human, an almost smug look in his face. Lily shoots him a glare, and he attempts to look modest, as though the entire room isn’t impressed with him.

Lily looks around, at everyone’s shocked faces (save for Remus, who still looks thoroughly ashamed). McGonagall has a face that is somehow both incredibly proud and envious.

“It took me five years,” she says, a faint smile on her face.

“Took us three.” Sirius is the proud schoolboy, through and through.

Unsurprisingly, Bagnold is just annoyed. “This… this changes nothing. Pettigrew is still dead and–”

“He cut off his finger, left it as his corps, and transformed into a rat,” Sirius says plainly. “It’s really quite simple.”

“Oh yes, of course,” the minister says, and Lily can tell that she has really had enough, and that the knowledge that she likely does not have her killer is quite unsettling. “All on the word of you two, I might add.” She shoots a finger between Lily and Sirius at the same time that Harry bursts into a fit of giggles. “Who knows if we can really trust her, Professor. For all we know, Black has her under the Imperius curse, is making her say all these ridiculous things.”

Lily has to fight back a laugh, and simultaneously wants to kick Bagnold upside the head (her husband did just die, really). Few wizards would be able to keep her under an imperius curse, of all people. Still, she knows that Dumbledore needs his proof, knows that he’s not a fan of being left out of the loop.

She leans forward, addressing him only. “Give us veritaserum. I know you’ve got to have some around, and if not, I can always brew it. Or no, I suppose you don’t want me doing it. Well then, have your potions master do it… have Snape do it, I know he’s around.” – Sirius makes a sound of protest, but Lily ignores him – “He’d do it for me.”

Silence falls upon the room, and things suddenly feel quite serious. She’s never liked asking Dumbledore for things – it’s not her way, really. But this, god, she fucking needs this.

“Please,” she utters. “I’ve had a real shit day. This would not help.”

He sighs, looks around the room. Bagnold is haughty and angry. The aurors look confused, unsure of what they are supposed to do. Remus is tense, as is Sirius, but he’s also anxious. McGonagall looks terrified, more so than Lily has ever seen her.

Dumbledore is looking back and forth between Lily and Sirius, and for only a moment, casts his stare at Harry. He then turns his attention to Bagnold.

“Well, it seems quite clear, doesn’t it,” he says, that classic glimmer he has coming in. “Pettigrew is your man.”

There’s an uproar of course, because there always has to be, but it doesn’t matter. Lily sits back and breaths a sigh of relief, running a hand through her hair. It’s all right.

 

 

 

_sixteen hours after_

 

She smacks him upside the head.

They’re outside his office now, standing in the waiting area while Dumbledore hashes out the details with the minister (who was still protesting Sirius’ release from custody quite passionately when the headmaster asked them to leave, but it’s no matter). Remus had immediately made up an excuse, deciding that he needed to go get them all coffee, clearly sensing that Sirius and Lily needed to be alone for a moment.

The second she had heard the last of his footsteps, Lily had given Sirius the hardest smack she could muster, almost knocking him to the ground. She was still holding Harry in her arms, who giggled at the sound it made when her hand collided with his head.

“Owww, god, jesus christ,” he shouted once he had his bearings again, rubbing at the spot she had hit. “What the fuck, Lils?”

“What the fuck?” she whispers harshly. In the back of her head, she can hear Petunia scalding her for cursing in front of Harry, but it’s been a day, and really, there are far more dangerous forces are work against Harry than hearing a couple of bad words. “You’re asking me _what the fuck?_ ” She hits him a couple more times, and he cowers like the child that he is. “You get yourself fucking arrested less than twenty-four hours after James is killed and you’re asking me _what the fuck?_ ”

“I knew nothing would come of it,” he says, but his tone says that he knows he’s done wrong. “I needed to get Wormtail, you know I did–”

“I told you not to fucking go kill him! And do you know why? It’s cause I knew he’d have a goddamn plan!” She huffs, and Sirius sort of shuffles. “I mean, did you really think he wouldn’t see you coming a mile away.”

“I, well… I didn’t really think about that. In the moment.” He has that look about him that he gets when he knows he’s done wrong, hasn’t thought things through properly, has gone on emotion.

“No you fucking didn’t!”

The makes him perk up. “Alright well, what was I supposed to do? Just sit around, knowing the filthy traitor who as good as murdered James was walking free? Come on Lils, you know I’m no coward–”

“You almost left.” This comes out fiercely, desperately, their eyes locking. “You almost got sent away to fucking Azkaban.”

There’s a moment of pause, where he suddenly looks incredibly guilty. Still, he’s Sirius, and he has to try to defend himself. “I knew it’d be alright, Dumbledore would come through–”

“You knew no such thing,” she says, turning to look at Harry for a moment. “We had to beg in there, and Bagnold still wants your head. This is barely over.”

The words echo for a long moment after, both of them staring at Harry, who seems to be trying to make a fist over and over. Sirius makes a couple of attempts to speak, but they fall flat every time.

Finally, she tears her gaze away from Harry, and looks Sirius right in the eyes. “You’re not allowed to leave me,” she says. “Everything is fucked, and I don’t… I need you. You can’t leave.”

It’s only after these words that Lily realizes she has started crying lightly, her eyes filled with small little tears. She bites her lip. But Sirius is her Sirius, and when he says what comes next, his resolve is clear, determined, even more so than when he decided to go kill Peter.

“I won’t.”

 

 

 

_seventeen hours after_

 

“Finally,” the headmaster starts, breathing what Lily can only assume is a sigh of relief, “we are alone.”

It doesn’t appear as if the minister had given up easily; when she had left not even fifteen minutes ago, she was accompanied by a large huff, and glared menacingly at Sirius as McGonagall escorted her and the aurors out. Still, it seemed to be of no immediate concern at the moment, as Sirius was technically speaking a free man. There would be time to let the bitterness of Peter sink in later, but right now Lily was just a little too numb for it. This had felt like the day that would never end.

Dumbledore had clearly mentioned something to the portraits about their behavior, because, Lily noticed, every single one had its head turned, was asleep or looking at the ground or behind them, anywhere but at Lily and Sirius and baby Harry, whom Lily had finally let free to roam on the ground. Sirius and Lily were sitting in the same spots as before, only this time Dumbledore was the only other person in the room besides her son. But his initiative hadn’t exactly changed: he still wanted answers.

“So,” he started again, taking a sip of his tea, and Lily knew quite surely what was coming next. “What exactly happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

He sighs slightly, giving Lily a comforting smile. It did not have the desired effect, and as such, she made no move to smile back.

“I understand, of course, that this is a difficult subject,” and for a moment, Lily thinks he was going to suggest they wait a few days for an explanation, but it’s too soon. “I do very much believe, however, that a clear account of the events delivered to myself as soon as possible would be in everyone’s best interests.”

“The pain really isn’t the problem,” though even as she’s saying it, the image of James pops into her head for a moment, and she momentarily wonders if she is going to faint. “Really, I just… I don’t know what happened. I was there, but I don’t get it.”

The look that Dumbledore gives her now tells Lily quite clearly that he too is not used to Lily not understanding things.

“A play-by-play would be sufficient.”

For a second, Sirius sits up like he is going to protest, and Lily feels a large swing of affection towards him, but she bats him down. Fine, Dumbledore wants a damn explanation, she’ll give him an explanation. He’ll be quite as confused as she is, and will maybe stop giving her that pitiful look that makes her want to slap him upside the head.

“As soon as we knew he was there, James insisted that I take Harry and run. I had, well” – she pauses, tries to find her words – “I had always planned, that if Voldemort were to find us, I’d do the fighting, make James take Harry. I tried to explain as but to him in the moment, but…”

“Stupid noble bastard,” Sirius says, shaking his head.

“Exactly. He didn’t have a wand, of course, he knew that…” Breath in, breath out. “So, I took Harry to his room, shut the door, tried to barricade it, but I’d forgotten my wand as well, so I knew that it was no use. Not long after, the door was shot off his hinges, he entered” – nobody mentions that she has skipped over James’ death, which Lily is grateful for – “and he told me to step aside.”

A flash of something that Lily cannot decipher crosses over Dumbledore’s eyes. “He would’ve spared you?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Who knows, probably not when he’d finished with Harry. Anyways, he told me to move a few times, I didn’t of course, and then once he realized I’m wasn’t going to move, he told me that he’s was going to kill me. He got his wand out, said the curse. And…”

Both Dumbledore and Sirius seem to be on the edges of their seats. Harry is playing with a stuffed toy Dumbledore had offered to him on the floor, and is paying them no mind.

“And?” the headmaster encourages. Lily thinks for a moment.

“And I tripped.”

Lily thinks you could probably hear a pin drop right about now, if it weren’t for Harry making cooing noises. Were the scene not so depressing, she’d probably ask them to hold their faces so she could get a picture; their expressions are pretty priceless.

“You tripped?” Dumbledore asks, and silently Lily is quite glad that he has become just as confused as she is.

“That’s right.”

“As in, fell on the ground?” Sirius has an eyebrow heavily raised.

“Exactly.”

There is a moment in which neither of them can think of a thing to say, though Lily is somewhat amused by the way Dumbledore’s mouth keeps opening and closing. After a few minutes, during which time Sirius has put his head in his hands, Lily continues.

“The thing is, well, I think he did get me,” she starts up again. “Like, I’m pretty sure that the curse definitely got me on my side, or at least it was about to. But well, you both know James, couldn’t clean a room to save his life. I told him to tidy the place up and clear away Harry’s toys, since they were cluttering the entire floor, but well, that clearly didn’t happen.”

Despite her explanation, both men still seem heavily confused. She can’t blame them, exactly. The knowledge that she has essentially evaded the Dark Lord by tripping over her one-year-old’s toys is hardly the heroic story she thinks they were imagining.

“So,” Dumbledore starts up again after a few minutes, and Lily thinks the information has finally sunk in enough for him to have a coherent thought. “Voldemort cast the spell, you tripped, and–”

“And it hit Harry.” This comes from Sirius, who is staring at her son with a level of intensity she has rarely seen him express.

“Yes,” she said slowly, looking back as Harry as well, his new scar seeming to glisten in the light.

“It’s not surprising,” Dumbledore says, and after a moment Lily notices that he too is staring at Harry. “That bit of old magic, it’s strong, Voldemort wouldn’t have thought of it.”

“It’s cause James died to save him.”

Dumbledore quirks an eyebrow. “It’s because you were both willing to die, which is really all that matters.” This seems to satisfy him, now that he’s got his information and his answers. He ruffles a few papers for a moment that Lily is sure are of no importance, says “yes, well,” a few times, brings his hand to his beard, and then his head. She thinks he is disoriented, which Lily has rarely seen before.

“But wait,” Sirius perks up now, as if the final piece of the puzzle has finally caught up to him. “Why didn’t Voldemort die? I mean, Harry didn’t die because of the dying-charm-thing, I know that. But if it rebounded… Lily, you said he wasn’t dead. You said he like shriveled up and…”

“Crumbled,” she finishes.

“Yeah, crumbled,” he nods. “Why?”

Lily and Dumbledore exchange a look, one where Dumbledore bites at his lip and Lily raises an eyebrow.

“Sirius, have you ever heard of a Horcrux?”

“A what-ux?”

Lily gives a bitter laugh. Dumbledore sighs. “I hadn’t heard of them either, myself, until Ms. Potter right here informed me of a few books pertaining to them in our very own library. Sufficed to say, I was quite shocked.”

Sirius still looks completely and utterly confused. Lily, despite herself, feels that she is winning whatever weird power-play exists between her and the headmaster. Dumbledore gives her a look now, and Lily knows that this is on her.

“I’ll explain later, Sirius,” she says. “It’s quite complicated, I’m much too tired to get into it now.”

Were they in absolutely any other scenario, Lily is quite sure Sirius would put up a fight and protest, but instead he just sits back, gives her an understanding look. Dumbledore has stood up now, and is shuffling papers again.

“I presume that you’re not going back to that house.”

Lily shrugs; she hadn’t thought about it much. “I mean, I might want to pop by to get some of our stuff, but… I can’t live there.”

“Quite right,” he says. “We can send someone over to retrieve yours and Harry’s things, if you’d prefer.”

“S’okay, I can manage.” Lily is pretty certain that the only thing worse than having to return to that house would be never stepping foot in it again and never getting closure.

Dumbledore nods. “Well then, as for where you and Harry will stay for the foreseeable future–”

“They’re staying with me,” Sirius says quite suddenly, which surprises Lily a bit, if only because she assumed he had stopped listening. But he doesn’t say it like an offer, instead as though it is simply a statement of fact, and Lily feels another surge of affection.

Dumbledore just stands, nods. Fidgets with his beard. “Right then. Right.”

 

 

 

_twenty-three hours after_

 

Sirius insists that she and Harry sleep in his bed, starts pulling out the couch for himself as though sleeping in his own bed was never in the cards for tonight. All things considered, she has to agree.

There’s a crib in the room that he had bought before they went into hiding, on the off chance that James and Lily would ask him to babysit. (They never used it, of course; he got it only a month before Dumbledore called them into his office.) Lily knows that it would probably be smarter to let Harry sleep in it, but she can’t. She needs to son by her, held in her arms, where she can make sure he’s safe.

The real shocker is that she manages to actually fall asleep for a little bit. Her head hits the pillow, and she’s knocked out, her arms cradling themselves around Harry. He’s out like a light as well, of course, and for a few hours they sleep soundly, mother and son, safe and together. Everything is awful, but in the moment, everything is going to be okay. Everything is alright. Until.

Lily jerks awake, and for a moment has no idea where she is, becomes very scared. The clock by the bedside table – not her bedside table, it should be noted, but just _a_ bedside table – says it’s much earlier than when she’s normally asleep, and yet Lily knows that she has been out cold for a few hours. She feels disoriented and confused, the only thing calming her being the sleepy breathing of Harry, who is currently nestled between two pillows.

And then it hits her.

She’s not in her home, but Sirius flat, Sirius room. She’s not in her home because for all intents and purposes, that place isn’t her home anymore. Sirius is sleeping on the couch, and Harry is sleeping besides her, Harry was almost killed. Harry is alive, Harry is sound. Her husband is dead.

_My dead husband, my dead husband, my husband who used to be alive but is now dead, dead, very dead._

And suddenly, without much buildup, Lily finds herself bursting into tears.

They’re loud, very loud. The kind of tears that are ugly, that make people uncomfortable (that have always made Lily a little uncomfortable, if she is being honest). Big and loaded and filled with emotion. She’s sobbing, in every sense of the word. Lily feels like she can hardly breath, because, god he’s dead. He’s her person and he’s dead, gone, not around anymore. Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck.

She sobs out, twists in on herself. Miraculously, Harry doesn’t wake up, which is surprising as all hell because she’s loud, and making a fuss, barely breathing, her face practically drenched. She doesn’t notice the bedroom door being opened, doesn’t notice Sirius coming into the room. He sits on the bed and takes her in his arms, holding her, and Lily cries. She cries into him and sobs, and if Lily could muster a coherent thought, she would think that he must be crying as well. He is, but just a little bit. Mostly, though, he’s just holding her, letting her let it out.

Sirius finds her. He always finds her.


	3. november

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first month...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will continue to write this universe until I have nothing more to say about it. So I think it's probably gonna be a while.

 

> Just before our love got lost you said  
>  "I am as constant as a northern star" and I said  
>  "Constantly in the darkness  
>  Where's that at  
>  If you want me I'll be in the bar"
> 
> \- Joni Mitchell, _A Case of You_

 

Growing up, Lily only ever attended one funeral, when she was twelve, for her Grandma Rachel. It had been a thing, of course, pulling her out of school for a full week so she could sit Shiva, which mostly just consisted of Lily and Petunia playing board games and listening to stories about their grandmother from Grandpa Dave. He had made it a big deal, brought out the book about their family tree, told them about how their name had been Evacska before they came over from Russia. They had smiled and pretended to care, but mostly it had all been boring. By the end of the week, Lily was desperate to be back in school and Petunia made it quite known throughout the house that she was desperate for Lily to leave.

Lovely time, really.

She hadn’t since had to sit Shiva again. When her parents died a year out of school, Petunia hadn’t wanted to go through the motions, probably didn’t want to spend an entire week cooped up in their childhood home with her sister. Lily hadn’t made a fuss; there was a war going on, and all things considered, she really hadn’t had time to waste a week, as sad as it was.

But that had been it for that. Lily didn’t have any Jewish friends, and she assumed that Petunia wouldn’t have anyone sit for her when she died (Petunia, who now went to church every Sunday and sent her a Christmas card every year). It was fine. It was whatever. That was the end of that.

Or rather, it was only technically. James was not Jewish – Potter was the most English name a person could possibly have, and then his mother was Hindu, which either way meant that a Shiva was always quite out of the question. Maybe for Lily whenever she possibly died, but never James. James didn’t even believe in religion: he believed in his mother and father, Quidditch, Lily, Sirius, and pranking, but he never believed in religion. Lily didn’t either, if she was being honest, but James believed in it less than she did. Besides a simple funeral (which had already happened, if you could call Lily, Sirius, and Remus all burying him together a funeral), he wasn’t expecting much following death, she assumes.

Still. It’s been a week since they buried him in the rain, the three of them digging down and not saying a word. None of them needed to clarify that it had to be done without magic – that they needed to move the dirt with their own hands, own shovels. The rain had started mid-way through, and there had been a moment where they looked up, made eye-contact, and laughed. Laughed because of course – of fucking course – it would have to rain today, right now. Harry was there as well, playing with his toy in his stroller, and he giggled when the rain touched his forehead, even more so when Lily magiced him an umbrella but continued to let herself be poured on.

That had been a full week ago. Since then, Lily has barely gotten out of bed, save for showering and going to the loo, and sometimes eating. Sirius has brought her food mostly, but around the fifth day he stars to think it unwise how little she is leaving the room, and makes her come out for meals. Which is fine, she can get up and eat, it’s not a big deal. Harry has been crawling all about the house, playing in the area Sirius has set up for him and wandering about into the kitchen.

On the seventh day of her bedrest, Sirius evidently starts to worry.

“I think you need to leave the flat,” he tells her in the morning. She’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and smoking a fag.

“No thank you.”

He huffs, crosses his arms like an upset parent. Lily almost tells him as much, but knows that if she did it would just lead to more anger and hurt feelings. This really isn’t the time for that.

“Lily, it’s been a week, and you’ve barely left the room.”

“I’m mourning,” she says, putting out her cig. “Haven’t you ever heard of a Shiva?”

“A what-a?”

Lily sighs, sitting up. “I don’t want to leave yet. There’s no reason to, really.”

“No reason except the retaining of your sanity.” He’s exasperated, yet nervous, and Lily suddenly gets the feeling that this conversation has been rehearsed, probably with Remus. He’s looked tired all week, and were she not so numb she would worry. There are beer bottle piling up, he clearly hasn’t shaved since the burial.

God, they’re both so fucking broken.

She’s about to get real and truthful, all the while arguing her way out of actually having the leave the premises, when there’s a loud knock at the door. They pause, because not a lot of people know this address, or who it is that lives here (them, specifically). In a second, he’s rushing out the room, and without knowing it Lily is holding her breath until she hears him shout, “it’s only Remus.”

She breaths a sigh of relief, but it’s too soon. A moment later there’s an urgent “ _what!_ ” followed by a sling of curses. “No no no, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Not them.” And Lily feels the panic, the panic that they’ve all gotten used to in the last few years, but she thought, _she thought_ , was over with.

Lily’s stomach starts to turn over.

 

 

 

St. Mungo’s has always made Lily feel sick all over. Really, hospitals have never held much appeal for her, at least in terms of being in them herself (she fully supports their right to exist, of course, she’d just prefer if her time in them was limited). It’s why she’d always just politely smile when people suggested she be a healer. Despite her aptitude, there are few things Lily would dislike more.

But especially now, when her heart is burning and she feels sweat, coughing, everything. Remus had offered to watch over Harry while Sirius and Lily went to visit, really went to see. She knows what she’s going into, of course, but it all doesn’t feel quite real.

None of the recent events in her life seem real, but still. This is extra.

They’re being lead briskly through the hospital by one of the head healers, who keeps shooting Lily sympathetic looks. Quite suddenly, they’re turning down the Janus Thickley Ward. Lily can see the small words under the big name, _spell damage_. Lily wants to puke.

“They’re, well…” the healer starts, and Lily can tell from her voice that it’s not good, that it’s the kind of not good that isn’t going to get any better. Suddenly, they’re stepping into a small room, and Alice and Frank Longbottom are sitting in front of her.

Only they’re not the Frank and Alice that Sirius and Lily know, the brave aurors, loving parents. There is a glazed look in their eyes, one of confusion and fear and something else. Lily and Sirius exchange a look, and she is reminded of the thing he said this morning, about her losing her sanity if she didn’t leave the flat.

Suddenly that seems in bad taste.

“It was a nasty job, yes it was,” the healer says. She’s gone over to sit with them, but they don’t seem to have noticed. “We can’t say how long it is they were tortured for, but when we got them there were scars and blood nearly everywhere.” She shakes her head, and pats Alice on the shoulder. “They’ve got a son, you know. Poor fellow. He’ll be living with his grandmother, she’s a nice lady, but still…”

Lily feels her heart break for Neville, little baby Neville. He’s the same age as Harry, and Lily had only met him once, but he was a sweet kid, adorable. Despite herself, Lily gets a sudden rush of blood (she can’t say where), images and Neville and Frank and Alice and _James_ filling her head. She can’t quite breath. She can’t quite make sense of anything.

A moment later, she’s stormed out of the room, out of the ward and down the hall. She coughs again, and finds herself sloughing again the wall, sitting down. There are tears in her eyes, a feeling of loss all over.

Because her and Alice were always a pair, in the same way that her and James were. Alice was her best friend when she never had a lot of friends at all, stuck around through the Severus years, the James years. Alice was the girl who decided that Frank Longbottom was the man for her within the month of school, and promptly spent the next two years campaigning for his heart, with secret letters and stolen glances. She won out at the end of third year, but really, it was never much of a fight: Frank had fancied her longer than she him.

“You haven’t gotten tired of him yet,” Lily at asked at the end of fifth year, when romance and going the distance with anyone seemed quite impossible.

“Of course not,” she had giggled back, throwing a book at Lily’s head. “He’s basically my soulmate.”

At that point, Lily hadn’t believed in soulmates. Her romantic experience had consisted of a few awkward dates, and that one snogging session with Thomas Davey which ended with him going for third base and her immediately slapping him away. (Potter’s image had briefly crossed her mind, but no, that didn’t count.) She still didn’t believe in soulmates, mostly because if they were real it meant that Lily was alone without hers, because hers had been killed.

But then it was 1976. Lily was sixteen, and really, she didn’t need to worry about those sorts of things. They needn’t bother. She could make fun of her best friend for being so damn in love (and yet privately marvel at the fact that Alice had actually had sex, when Lily couldn’t ever imagine feeling comfortable enough with someone to do it) and be annoying and mean and sarcastic, and it was fine. Alice would call her out, Alice would still love her in the morning.

Except that now it’s 1981. Lily has been in love and Lily has had sex and Lily knows all the things she didn’t know at sixteen, including how it feels to have your person – your soulmate, if you will, although Lily still hates that word – and have it all taken away. 1981 Alice can no longer love Lily in the morning, because 1981 Alice no longer can do much of anything.

 

 

 

When they arrive back at Sirius’ flat, it’s dark. Remus and Harry have gone to sleep sloughed against the couch, and Lily notes the way Remus’ arm is hanging over Harry protectively. Lily thinks that Sirius is going to make a move to cook up some dinner, or at least order some take-out, but instead he just take out a pack of cigarettes and lights up.

Lily drops her bag on the floor, and stands around for a moment, taking in the room. It doesn’t feel like her home, but of course, Lily doesn’t have a real home anymore, just a place where she is living. The thought occurs to her that as of recently she doesn’t have a lot of things that used to be hers.

She sighs, grabs one of Sirius fags and heads for his record room. It’s been Sirius’ pride and joy since he moved in, filled with every type of music imaginable. It’s part of his rebellion against his family, she thinks, his love of records. She remembers the way he stared at her in awe in seventh year when she informed him that she kept a record player on school grounds (“you’ve just got to make it magic,” she told him, “and then it’ll work for you). In the one corner is a stack of god knows how many albums – Lily’s collection, recently moved from Godric’s Hallow to this dingy flat. They’re in piles, barely organized, but Lily knows that album that she wants, summons it quietly and catches it a moment later when it comes flying out.

When she puts the song on, Lily sits beside the player and lights her fag. The lights still aren’t on, and Sirius hasn’t put on anything in the room. In the dark, Lily smokes her fag and listens to “A Case of You” by Joni Mitchell and cries. Her and Alice used to dance around in the dorm to this song, ignoring the complaints from their roommates, shouting out the lyrics about being in each other’s blood. Later, her and James would get drunk to this song, and he would recite _I could drink a case of you_ as he kissed her hard.

Sirius comes in and sits by her now, fag in hand. They sit and they smoke and they listen to Joni Mitchell, and _god_ , Lily thinks. What a depressing scene.


	4. december

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where 1981 becomes 1982.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to write this shit, because I hate my actual responsibilities, apparently. Feedback is always welcome, yo.

“I think I need my own place.”

It’s December 23rd, 1981. They’re decorating the tree that Sirius insisted on getting, even though they’re not really doing the holidays this year, besides for Harry. (That’s not actually true, of course. Lily knows that both Sirius and Remus got her gifts, and got each other things as well, in addition to things for Harry. She also knows that Hagrid must’ve gotten them all gifts, as did McGonagall as well.

Lily has gotten nothing for anyone, except for Harry, and it’s not much, just a little toy. Her only consolation is that Dumbledore didn’t get anyone anything either.)

It’s not snowing outside, isn’t supposed to snow until January this year. Lily can’t help but compare thai to last year: huddled up in Godric’s Hallow with James, snow falling, the tree bright and the fire warm. In love with each other and in love with their little new-born son. Flash forward: Sirius doesn’t have any real decorations, just lots of stringy tinsel and popcorn being thrown around. A telly program about Rudolph is playing in the background, but Harry isn’t paying it any mind.

“What,” Sirius asks and tinsel hangs over his shoulders. “My humble abode isn’t enough for you?”

Lily glances at the pile of empty beer bottles sitting by the kitchen counter. They don’t talk about that part, just like they don’t talk about how recently Lily has been smoking a pack every two days.

She smiles. “I’m tired of imposing on your generosity.”

“I really don’t mind,” he says, and Lily knows he means it. There’s something to be said for always having a person around, not being left in the dark. It’s been good, really. It’s been a necessity. But it’s also been two months stuffed in a tiny two-bedroom apartment with three people, with one of the bedrooms not even in use because it’s just filled with records. Lily doesn’t think this can go on.

She takes a sip of her wine and shrugs, watching as Harry plays with his toys, ignores the program with the Reindeer on TV. Last year, they’d also done Hanukkah; Lily had protests that she didn’t care, it had never really been a big deal for them growing up anyways, but James still went out and bought the menorah and Torah, and even practiced the prayers a little bit so that she wouldn’t be reciting them alone. This year, Lily couldn’t be bothered.

“You know, the people next door are moving out in January,” Sirius mutters as he starts to take some of the tinsel off his body and put it on the tree.

“The Millers?”

“The Musgroves.”

“Oh.” She takes another sip of her drink. “Sirius Black, are you suggesting I move across the hall from you?”

Sirius gives her an offended look, but something about the way he is meticulously arranging the tinsel on the tree tells her that this isn’t the first time he’s thought about this. After another moment, in which Sirius messes with the tree, Harry messes with his toys, and Lily doesn’t mess with anything, she asks the question. “What’s your angle, Black?”

A smile flickers across his face. “It’s just idea, you know. Just… a thought. Something to entertainment. To ponder, is all.”

“Yeah, great. Tell me what the fucking thought is.”

He ignores her sass. “What if we just… bought the floor?”

There’s a long pause, in which Sirius is smiling at Lily hopefully and Lily’s not sure what the fuck is happening (and Harry does not care). She gets up and walks over to the kitchen counter, finishing her class in one swig and refilling it, probably more so than she ought so, but whatever. She makes a show of walking back over to the same spot on the floor and sitting down, and Sirius spends the entire time rolling his eyes at her dramatics. When she’s back on the ground and settled, she speaks. “Repeat yourself now.”

Lily expects him to make a thing out of her waiting a good solid three minutes to respond, but evidently he’s so jazzed about this idea that he doesn’t even care. “So there’s four flats on this floor, right? There’s the one across, where the Musgroves live, and then the two down the hall. And I mean, this place isn’t the cheapest, but it’s not anything ridiculous. You and me, we buy the floor, enchant it for safety reasons, maybe put in a door so people can’t come down it easily, just have to go up or down. Would push off any undesirables. You take the flat across the way, and we rent out one of them to Remus.”

It’s very thorough, is Lily’s first thought. That’s Sirius Black for you; he’s careful about so little things, but when he’s careful, he’s very careful. “What about the forth flat?” she asks.

Sirius shrugs. “Storage, place for our various guests to stay.” Lily wasn’t aware they had any friends besides themselves, as everyone else seems to be dead. “Really, what to do with the forth flat is the least of our worries.”

It’s not, well… it’s not actually a bad idea, really. It’s odd, for sure, and a part of her thinks that living in such close quarters could lead to some bad blood down the line, but at the same time… it’s appealing. The idea of having her own door that she can lock, and also having Sirius and Remus just across the way, is appealing.

“It is a bit odd,” she says, but it’s through a smile as she looks over at the telly, and Lily doesn’t have to see Sirius’ face to know that he knows that she’s in.

“Well, yeah, but you know, we’re a bit odd,” Sirius says as he sits down next to her on the floor and takes a sip of her wine. “It’s fitting, really.”

 

 

 

On New Year’s, Sirius passes out on the couch before eleven. It’s not very rock and roll, and Lily makes a promise to herself through the drinks that she’ll have to take the mickey out of him for it in the morning. Harry is asleep in the other room, snoozing like the little tot that he is, and Remus left early, said that he needed to be home. Privately, Lily has very much come around to Sirius’ flatting plan, and is also very glad that Remus had responded enthusiastically when they pitched it to him tonight. The idea that he could be just down the hall is comforting, even though she’s got Sirius snoring practically on her shoulder at this very moment.

She’s barely awake herself, very much living up to the old married women joke the boys used to play at right after her and James had married. (Old widowed woman now.) She hates resolutions and thinks they’re pointless, but at 11:52 on December 31st, 1981, Lily tells herself that next year she will not have to desperately force herself to stay awake to make it to midnight. She will be a cool young person doing cool young person things, not drifting off with a wasted man who she doesn’t want to sleep with drooling on her shoulder.

The thing is… she needs to be awake for this. Lily needs to be awake for the moment where 1981 becomes 1982. This time a year ago she was happy and married and in love, and now she is depressed and widowed and hopeless. She’s still in the state of numbness, knows that a year from now she’ll still be in it as well. People don’t recover from these things quickly. But she needs the year to be over with already. In 1981 the worst thing happened to her that could have possibly happened to her (save for the even scarier universe where both James and Harry die and Lily is sent to the ward with Alice and Frank because she’s gone insane). 1982 won’t fix that, she knows. But at least it won’t be 1981 anymore.

So she stays up, drinks her beer and watches the stupid program on the telly where the ball drops. Up on the mantle is the Christmas Card that Petunia has sent her. Lily has no idea how it made its way here, but the three of them are smiling in it, still. Her sister, her only family, besides Harry. Well, besides Sirius and Remus, because they are family as well, of course. But yeah. She looks at the card and drinks her beer and watches the program.

No, actually, scratch the first resolution. The first resolution is stupid and silly and pointless. A year from now, she is allowed to be at some cool party, that’s fine. But she also will have spoken to her sister. And not just spoken to her sister as in Lily will call in the morning, on January 1st 1982\. They will have spoken more. At least since November.

September, actually. September 1982 seems fair.

The clock ticks down. Sirius snores beside her. She breaths, closes her eyes. Says goodbye (good riddance) to every part of 1981.

And boom.

“Congregations folks,” the announcer shouts on the telly. “ _It’s 1982!_ ”


	5. january

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> petunia and lily manage to have a talk without attempting to kill each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice thank you to the few who have been enjoying. Feedback is a lovely thing and makes me enjoy this whole writing shiz.

Lily rings her sister from her empty flat.

It’s only her flat as of this morning; the deal had gone through and papers signed, and her and Sirius are now the proud owners of an entire floor in London. Remus is moving in next week, and despite Lily’s protests that they should really start moving some of her things over tonight (not that she owns that many things at the moment – furniture from the old house really did not seem like an option), Sirius had insisted that celebration was in order: he gotten champagne and danced with her around his flat to Frank Sinatra music. In the end, she’d only managed to bring a couple of boxes of books over to the new place.

She’s sitting on one of the boxes now, holding the phone in her lap. It’s only 7:30, but Lily knows her sister, and so she knows that if she waits too much longer it’ll be a whole thing, her calling too late without warning. Lily can’t think to understand how she could possibly give a warning of when she was going to call without actually having called first, but still. That will be how the argument goes.

It’s snowing presently. The first snow of the season. She’s actually been sitting in the dark in her new flat for a while now, just holding the phone, telling herself that it’s about that time, _pick up the receiver and push the damn buttons_. It’s going to be annoying and awful and quite possibly the worst, but still. She just needs to fucking do it. If she can’t do it right now in her new empty flat in the middle of January, 1982, then Lily doesn’t think she’ll ever do it.

_Ugh_. Fuck. She starts dialing.

It only gets through one single ring before there’s an answer, so Lily doesn’t even get to have the couple of seconds where she can wonder if anyone is going to pick up. She was counting on that in her head, she realizes, but then there’s the sound of air and her sister’s snide voice, and well, this is happening.

“Evening, Dursley residence.”

“Hi.”

There’s a long pause, during which time the only thing Lily can hear is the sound of each of their heavy breathing, and there is a second where Lily wonders if her sister even knows it’s her. Then, there’s a rattle of noises that Lily knows to be Petunia taking the phone and moving to a place away from the prying ears of her husband. She briefly wonders if her sister has actually found herself another room, or if she’s just sitting on the floor in that closet they have under the stairs.

After another moment of shuffling: “Well, what is it?”

“Nice to talk to you too.”

She can practically see Petunia rolling her eyes. “Don’t give me that,” she says stuffily. “You haven’t called in over a year, no letters or anything. We didn’t even get a bloody holiday card.”

“I’ve never sent out holiday cards.”

“Yeah, well. You might have called to thank me for mine.”

“It’s not like you’ve called me either.” There’s a pause after that; Lily bites her lips, knows that Petunia is doing the same thing as well. It’s their thing that they do. “I’ve moved,” she says a moment later.

“Right,” Petunia huffs, and then there’s another shuffle which Lily knows to be her sister grabbing for a pen and a piece of paper. “Alright, where is it then?”

Lily tells her the address while staring out at the snow, thinking about how much she would like to sit out on the fire escape and taste just one bit of it. She can hear scribbling on the other end, and then: “That’s in London.”

“Right you are, yes it is.”

“You and James have decided to move to London.” There’s judgment in her voice at the very notion that Lily has moved her baby son from the country into goddamn London, although she’s mostly just surprised that Petunia knows James’ name.

“Not me and James. Just me and Harry.”

Another pause, a confused sound. “Oh god, don’t tell me you’ve left him?”

“No, I have not left him,” she replies, annoyed. This moment should probably be thought out and tactful, things that Lily is normally good at. But because everything has been quite fucked recently, it is neither. “He’s dead.”

The line goes silent for a while after that, and were it not for the heavy breathing on the other end, Lily would think her sister had hung up. She suddenly wishes she had done this in person, if only so she could burn whatever look Petunia is currently making into her memory.

“Dead?”

“Dead.”

More pausing, a bit of huffing. The snow is falling even harder outside, and _shit_ , Lily has just remembered that her and Sirius were going to go furniture hunting tomorrow, and they still will of course but now it is going to end up being quite a pain in the fucking ass, moving heavy furniture throughout the snow without magic. They’ll have to charm the car to make it fit.

“When?” she asks now.

“The end of October,” Lily says, tugging the chord between her fingers. “Halloween, actually.”

A short pause, and a second later the line goes dead.

 

 

 

“Don’t forget the spring rolls. You know they’re my favorite.”

“I thought you said that fried rice was your favorite.”

Lily thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “They’re my favorite as well then.” When Sirius gives her a look, she continues. “Either way, if you don’t have both of those things I will be very upset, so.”

Sirius huffs, and grumbles something about mistreatment as he makes his way out to get lunch. Lily is sitting out in the hall (in their hall, now) on her brand new couch. They did manage to bring it up the stairs with a minimal amount of magic (they might have charmed it to make it light as a feather, but that’s it), though neither of them were very keen on trying to find an arrangement for her new flat until after eating. Lily had won in rock, paper, scissors, and as such, Sirius got to go get food.

(“S’not fair,” he had said after her triumph. “You grew up playing it. You’ve got practice.”

“It’s a game of luck, you idiot.”)

So now, it’s midday, and she’s lounging. Harry is playing with his toys in the other room, making the dragons and the dinosaurs battle each other. Remus is coming over later for dinner, and will probably start scoping out his new flat. The snow is still pounding down outside, making Lily ever so slightly remember the fond memories of huddling from the cold in the common room during school. Everything if fucking fine.

(She dreamed about her childhood last night, the years before Severus when it was just her and Tuney, and they would play out in the fields and make each other flower crowns. Petunia would always be the queen and Lily would be her princess, but it was fine, it was good and sweet and _god_ , a part of Lily would love nothing more than to be transported back there and get to do it all over. Not be a witch and not meet James and not be so bloody involved in all this shit.)

She’s thinking about what exactly she’ll do for the next half hour – napping is the most appealing option, but she thinks it needs too much effort and time, and she’ll probably just go and smoke instead. She’s sitting, alone but not alone, reaching into her pocket for her pack, when she hears it.

The sound of someone walking up the stairs. It’s loud, annoyed. Definitely not Sirius already (she’d made him show her his wallet before he left, so that she knew he had it). Not Remus, who is always slow and patient, never in much of a rush. Any other magical person would just apparate or floo in. They’re not the top floor, of course, and it could be for someone else. But she knows those steps. She knows that this is for her.

A moment later, Petunia appears in the hall, huffy look on her face. Instinctively, Lily groans. Her sister gives her a look.

“So, I see you found the place,” Lily says. She takes out a fag and lights it with her wand. Petunia makes a disgusted face, before walking over, standing over the place that Lily is sitting on the couch.

“Your husband died in fucking October?”

“You know, Harry is just in there,” Lily says, raising an eyebrow, taking a drag. “Best watch your language.”

Petunia ignores her. “Fucking October?” Right then, Lily takes back what she thought last night: it’s perfectly alright that she told her sister on the phone, because the reaction she is getting at the moment is goddamn priceless.

“What about it?”

“Your husband died in fucking October and you only just thought to inform me now?”

Lily shrugs, flicks her cigarette. “I didn’t really think it concerned you that much.”

This earns her an annoyed look and a gruff, which Lily is sure are meant to tell her that she’s being dramatic. She doesn’t care, just stares her sister down and takes another drag. Really, all things considered, that fact that she’s found the time to inform her sister at all is a miracle, and Petunia has no right to be getting all huffy. They haven’t spoken since their parents died, aside from awkward phone calls and the occasional polite letter. It’s honestly rich of Petunia to try and make it a big thing, Lily not telling her about this. And yet.

A moment later, she’s being scooched down the couch, Petunia sliding beside her. They sit in silence for a bit longer, before Petunia takes the fag out of Lily’s hang and brings it to her lips.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” Lily says in a mock-concerned voice. “You used to go on and on about what a vile, nasty habit it is.” Petunia ignores her for a moment, then gives her a look with a raised eyebrow and breaths out smoke.

“So,” she starts up again, handing the fag back to Lily, “how are you then?”

“I’m fantastic, really. Thanks for asking.” There’s a moment where her malice hangs between them, and then: “I’m shitty.”

Petunia nods, as though she was expecting it, and Lily is slightly thankful that she didn’t make a joke about it being good that she felt bad, proof that she’s not a nutter. “How’d it happen?”

“He was killed.” The words feel nasty on her tongue, even though it’s been months, and Lily has to bring the fag back to her lips right then in order not to make an embarrassing sort of choking noise. Petunia, who had been drumming her fingers on her knee, stops, and looks over at her sister with a look of pity that Lily knows is instinct, not an actual effort to be caring.

“By that man,” she asks, and Lily is suddenly reminded of how much information her sister has actually retained. She never had a bad memory. “The really bad man you always went on about.”

“The very same.”

In the other room, Harry is still playing with his toys. Now, the dragon and dinosaur have become mates.

“I am sorry about it, you know.” In some ways, Lily thinks the _it_ is up in the air. There’s a lot of things for Petunia to be sorry about, in the same way that there’s a lot of things for Lily to be sorry about as well. They’re not very good sisters – they’ve never been very good sisters. One of the ways her and Sirius bonded early on was by discussing the contempt they each had for their siblings.

Still, Lily thinks with a shutter, Regulus is dead. Sirius had no problem talking nasty about his younger brother until he wasn’t around anymore. At least both her and Petunia are alive.

She stabs the fag out in the ashtray, listens to the sound of Harry in the other room. Rests her head on her sister’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”


	6. february

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lily fucking hates February...

February. God, February. If Lily is being honest, she’s never had a strong emotional push or pull towards February, never really cared about its existence one way or another. It’s not March, which she absolutely hates, but it’s not January. At school, Lily always loved January; being back in classes, back in the castle. She’s never liked the cold one bit, but for some reason the freeze in January was always okay, because at the very least it was usually somewhat new, and it also was always upfront about how long it would be around for. March is a tease and March likes to flip-flop, but January is still and strong, made up of chilly walks through the cold and warm night giggling with Alice by the common room fire.

February was always just kind of there.

Right now, it’s 1982, and Lily hates February. She’d hated January as well, because the month that was normally her favorite part of winter now had zero redeeming qualities, but for whatever reason, she hates February more. It’s raining now, and she’s sitting out on Sirius’ fire escape, small bits of water flicking on her as she smokes her cigarette. Her tea has gone cold, and Lily knows that once she finishes and goes inside, she will dump it and put the kettle on again. Sirius is across the hall with Harry in her flat, watching the telly and playing. They’d all been together earlier, but then a commercial for greeting cards had come on, and Lily had had one of her moments where things are suddenly off and she needs to be alone. So she’d gone across the hall, put the on kettle and lit herself a fag. But it hadn’t been enough, still too stuffy and off. When it had finished, she’d grab one of Sirius’ big sweaters and stepped outside. It wasn’t much, but the cool air did something.

Still, she couldn’t stand fucking February. The commercial had been about buying your loved one a card of Valentine’s, which is next week, and Lily has never been one of those people with a strong reaction to St. Valentine’s big day, but honestly, this year, she could do without it.

She takes a long drag, feels the smoke fill her body. She’s been doing that a lot lately.

James had taken her on their first date on Valentine’s. It wasn’t exactly momentous or anything – they’d been messing about since before the Christmas holidays, since that time in an empty classroom after Slughorn’s party – but still, it had been a thing. He’d taken her to the Three Broomsticks (they both couldn’t be bothered with Puddifoot’s), and they’d played footsie for hours on end, as though they hadn’t done much more within the confidents of various classrooms and closets, occasionally with other people in the room (she’d only let him finger her once in class, during a particular boring lesson of History of Magic when they were seated in the far corner in the back).

After, he’d taken her back to his dorm. The other Marauder’s were all out, and he’d carefully cast a silencing charm, and then they’d fucked. They hadn’t done that before, with anyone else or with each other. When they were finished, laying in his bed face to face, unsure of what exactly it was they were to each other, he’d asked it.

“So, well, you fancy me right?”

Lily gave a kind of laugh, raised an eyebrow. “Well, considering recent events, I definitely don’t not fancy you.”

“I know, it’s just…” he shuffled around slightly then, almost went to touch her shoulder, and then stopped. “We’ve been doing certain things for a while, and don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan” – she had flicked his arm at that, and he laughed – “but it’s just, well… I do actually enjoy your company beyond those encounters, if it wasn’t clear.”

Lily had thought back to the millions of elaborate ways he’d tried to ask her out over the years. “It’s been pretty clear, James.”

“Aright, yeah. That’s fair.” Pause. He was then looking at her in that way that he’d only looked with during seventh year, and maybe for a little bit sixth year, but never before: like her understood her depths and who she was. Got that in the world they lived in (the war they were living in, if she was being honest) they were the same, they had an understanding. They got what it was and they got each other.

She can never explain it, how they had went from two people who couldn’t be further from each other, to the same. It had started in sixth year, with pleasant conversations and shared looks, and then she had become friends with Sirius, would hang about some time. Then there was laughing and joking and crying, a kiss, a lot of kisses. And then there was laying in his bed on Valentines, 1978, James Potter asking Lily Evans if he fancied him.

“James,” she had said then, inching closer towards him. “I do fancy you.”

He’d smiled, but she could still tell he was unsure. “Yeah, but fancy as in you like getting off with me, or fancy as in…”

“I don’t like PDA,” she cuts him off. “And I’ve no interest in being ogled at by other students, or thought of as Hogwarts most promising young couple. But…” she trailed off for a moment, thought of her words. “If someone were to ask me if I was dating James Potter, I’d probably have to say yes.”

She’ll never forget the look he gave her then, the smile and the happiness, the way he kissed her, open mouth, with so much damn passion. The way it was low and quiet, private: nobody at school, save for maybe Sirius and Remus and Alice, would have been able to notice that James Potter and Lily Evans had managed to fall in love…

The breeze hits her harder now, the smell of fag and February filling her veins. That was February 1978. This is February 1982.

She’s not crying. Lily thinks she deserves some kind of medal to have remembered that whole story and not started crying. She breaths, stamps out her fag. Takes a small sip of her tea before spitting it out again (too cold, too fucking cold).

God, fuck February.


	7. march

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lily and dumbledore have a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to everyone who has read and left feedback - I'll be honest, I really wasn't sure if anyone would actually catch this, so the fact that some of you have and seem to enjoy it is lovely.

 

>  "You have to pick the places you don't walk away from."
> 
> \- Joan Didion

 

She thinks it’s probably a negative, that she now and likely forever more will associate Albus Dumbledore’s office with the death of her husband. That wasn’t the plan, of course, not really something that was on her mind at the time. But it’s now been a little over four months since _that day_ , and she’s sitting in his office for the first time since and feels like she might be sick on his nice desk. She keeps on getting flashbacks as well, imagining Sirius sitting beside her and Millicent Bagnold making annoyed looks in the corner. It’s all a bit much, really.

“So Lily,” Dumbledore asks, setting down his cup of tea, “how have you been these last couple months.”

“Peachy.”

He smiles, a glimmer in his eyes. Their relationship has always been – weird is a way to put it, she thinks. Off. Not what it should be. At school, she was his favorite kind of student: didn’t often break rules, and never got caught when she did. Excelled in every subjects, made her teachers proud. Prefect, head girl. Charming and pretty. She was good at playing that part, at being the nice smart girl. The niceness part was always a bit… well, it wasn’t fake, but maybe exaggerated. People have always thought she was nicer than she actually was, but it really was of no matter. She cared about things that were important, never intentionally hurt people’s feelings. Joined the Order as soon as she could to fight for what was right. That was Lily Evans, Hogwarts student.

But then, when it comes to the real world, they’re fundamentally different, don’t really fit together in the way that would be best. Lily was a fine solider she thinks, even if the strain was a bit much, but Dumbledore had a problem, always asked for more than he was willing to give. He likes his secrets more than anything, likes to be the person in the know but not share. He always says it’s under the pretense of not wanting to hurt others, but well, Lily doesn’t agree. She doesn’t agree with the way everyone just trusts him without thinking about it; goes along with his word, no questions asked. If she’s going to be out on the front lines, risking her life, torturing and being tortured (because both things did happen), then she wants to be kept in the fucking loop. She wants all the available pieces of the puzzle.

The real problem, she thinks, is that she’s smart, smarter than him if she is being honest. He is wiser, of course. Has lived longer, been through more shit, seen it all. But on pure intelligence of mind, she wins. She’s the genius. And that bugs him a little bit. There aren’t a lot of people in his life that he doesn’t know how to manipulate.

The polite way to put it would be to say that they have clashing personalities, she thinks.

He smiles again, put another sugar cube in his tea. “I know it has not been easy. I’ve spoken to Remus a few times. He does stay the flat arrangement is working out nicely.”

“It is,” she says, making a mental note to kick Remus the next time she sees him.

“But of course, I know it is all very tough on you.” He pauses, looks at her meaningfully, and that right there is why she has done what she could to avoid the entire wizarding community for the last few months: the damn pitiful look. People say they know what it must be like, and Lily is well aware that she is not the first person to lose a loved one to Voldemort. But _that look_ , god. She just wants to be able to be depressed in peace.

“Thank you,” she says through gritted teeth.

“How is Harry getting along?” Of course. She’s not completely out of it all these days. Harry Potter, the boy who survived the killing curse, and sent away the Dark Lord. The boy who lived. It’s not that she doesn’t think her son is special, really. She just thinks _the boy who lived_ crap is a bit much, especially for someone who can barely walk. She hates to be that person, but she is alive as well. No one likes to talk about that part, because it’s messy and sad. But at least it’s real.

“Harry is fine. Walking, crawling. He likes the new flat.”

“How’s the scar?”

Breath in, breath out. “It’s still there.”

“Yes, well.” He takes another sip of his tea, makes a comment about it that Lily doesn’t listen to. She’s staring at all the portraits, who have clearly been told not to stare but cannot help sneaking her sympathetic looks, in the same way that McGonagall did when she led Lily to the office.

“Well, I’m glad that you have been… yes.” He sits up. “But I did call you here on a matter of important business, actually.”

“I know. You said so in your owl.”

“Right.” Smiles, shuffles some papers. “Well, I am assuming you are unaware that there is currently a vacancy in our chairman of school governors position.”

Lily thinks for a moment, tries to figure out if she has any idea what the fuck that is. “Yeah, I’m unaware.”

“Yes, and you see, we’ve been having some trouble finding someone to take over.” He smiles. “It’s not a lot of work, really. Just overseeing the governors when need be.”

She thinks there is something to be said about the fact that this is the first reason he has felt the need to summon her to his office since that fateful day. She thinks this probably says something profound about his character, not that anyone else would like to hear.

“So, you want me to be this chair-person thing, then?” She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. There’s really no need to beat around the bush.

“Not on your own. I would like you to co run it.” He pauses again and coughs a little bit, before taking another sip of his tea. Lily still hasn’t touched hers. “With Lucius Malfoy.”

A beat goes by, in which Lily goes over who Lucius Malfoy is in her head. It takes a second for it to come through, because of all the people she could possibly be sharing the position with, he seems like the most unlikely. As wizards go, he’s never exactly been on her radar in the least. But then.

“You’re fucking with me,” is the first thing that instinctively comes out.

Dumbledore sighs. “I am not.”

“Lucius Malfoy – you want me to work with Death Eater Lucius Malfoy?”

“Former Death Eater, technically,” he says, but her scowl makes him buck up. “But yes.”

They just stare at each other for a couple moments, during which he finishes his tea and she run a hand through her hair. When she tries to go for a cigarette, he makes a motion telling her not to, and Lily throws her hands up with a loud _ughhhhhhhh_.

“Do I at least get a goddamn explanation?”

Dumbledore fixes his glasses, in that way he always does when he perceives someone as getting too emotional. All it really does it makes Lily want to punch him in the face. “The family has all come forward, says they were made to do the things they did, that their hearts weren’t really in it.”

“They’re lying.”

“Yes, they are, but the Malfoys have money, so the ministry is backing them.” He sighs very loudly now and raises an eyebrow, and Lily knows that he is not a fan of this decision. “When he heard about the vacancy, Lucius suggested he take it up, says he thinks it would be a good, noble thing for him to do after everything. Bagnold seems to agree.”

“That’s bullshit,” Lily mutters, and Dumbledore nods his head.

“Unfortunately, my hands appear to be tied. That’s where you come in.”

Suddenly, everything clicks.

“You want me to do the position with Malfoy so that he can’t fuck it up too much?”

Again, he nods his head, and Lily sits back, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Bagnold doesn’t love the idea, of course, considering your last meeting.” He makes a face. “But your recent struggles would make it particularly hard for her to truly object. And if she can say Lucius is her pick, I can say you are mine.”

“So we’re pulling the widow card already, are we?” she asks, annoyed. That’s the thing with Dumbledore – he’s as sensitive as can be until it isn’t needed. Then he’s tactful. “Not even giving it a year?”

He shrugs. “It’s not a card, just a factor,” he says, but she knows that’s bullshit. “You’ll be better with the governors anyways; they’ll think you’re charming.”

“Anyone can look charming next to that asshole.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, smiling. “But you, my dear, look charming next to everyone.”

This makes her insides churn in the worst way, makes her want to throw the worst parts of Dumbledore back at him. She’s not going to disagree, of course. Her biggest assets have always been her wits, her ruthlessness, and her charms. People don’t expect someone who looks like her to manage all three. Still. This is dirty.

“And what about the emotional toll on myself?” she asks, though they both know that won’t be much of a problem. She knows how to appear to be stable. She’ll get black-out drunk every time they have to have words, but she’ll seem stable as ever.

Apparently, Dumbledore agrees. “Lily,” he says, that glimmer in his eyes again, that glimmer that she never wants to fucking see again. “I think we both know you can handle it.”

 

 

 

She leaves in a hurry, rushing out of his office with anger coursing through her veins. It’s noon on a Sunday, so naturally only a few students seem to be up and Lily doesn’t have to run into anybody on her way out. Or more specifically, on her way to the spot.

She didn’t smoke much during her school years, besides passing a fag around among the girls or sneaking joints. It wasn’t until seventh year that she started to do it somewhat regularly, and that wasn’t much compared to now, but still, she had a place. She would go there alone on the nights when it was too much, where she didn’t like her friends or herself or the world, and that fact that she had been brought into a community that didn’t even want her. A couple times she brought James, and they passed a fag and laughed and usually ended up snogging.

Now, it’s 1982, and she’s alone again. She goes to her spot and smokes her fag, mostly because she knows it would piss Dumbledore off, and she’s in the mood to piss him off. She doesn’t want to flirt with the old governors, looking broken and fragile but _beautiful_ , while making small talk with a man who probably smiled at the news of her husband’s death. Dumbledore knows this and he doesn’t care, because there’s a greater good to be worried about. They’ve always got to be looking after someone else.

Well, fuck the greater good. Lily only wants to care about her son, her friends, and herself. That’s plenty.

She hears the steps of someone coming, and hopes in her heart that it’s the headmaster so he can see her in her element.

It’s not.

Severus Snape is suddenly in front of her. Black hair and robes, shocked expression on his face. Lily finds that she doesn’t have quite that much anger towards him at the moment, but still. They stand there for a few moments, staring at each other. A part of her wants to ask what he’s doing here, what exactly has happened (she thinks she’s heard Remus mention that he’s going to be the potions master next year), but she also isn’t in the mood to make conversation with him. Lily can’t tell if he’s in the same place, but he makes no effort to say anything himself, so she thinks he might agree.

She takes a final drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke fill her body for a moment and taking her eyes off of him. Then, she drops the fag to the pavement and grinds it in with the foot of her heel.

She doesn’t look back to see his expression as she walks away.


	8. april

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's around april when the real sadness comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, major thanks for all the various feedback. It makes writing and posting this stuff that much more enjoyable (and also ya girl just loves compliments).
> 
> Warning: I put this in the series tags, but there are some slight suicidal thoughts in this chapter.

 

> I think I'll go out and embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in the street
> 
> You say I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me
> 
> Maybe you're right
> 
>  
> 
> Let's talk about all of our friends who lost the war
> 
> And all of the novels that had yet to be written about them
> 
> \- Rilo Kiley, The Good That Won’t Come Out

 

She can’t explain why the sadness comes about the hardest in spring.

Lily’s never been a person who got much seasonal depression, despite always being a little sad during the summer to be away from her friends and stuck at home with Petunia. If she was sad, she was sad, but the time of year was never a factor. She adored the snow of winter, the way it would make the castle feel light. She loved the warmth of the summer, how she felt easy and free in her little dresses and shorts, the laziness and sweat of staying indoors all day and listening The Clash records. In many ways, Lily has always known she has quite a bit of sadness in her, but either it would be universal or occasional. There were factors, of course. But the weather never was one.

Now it’s 1982, and spring is finally here, the fickleness of March good and gone, and that’s when the real sadness comes in. She can’t say why or what triggers it. Things have been fine for months. Fine and settled and fine. Not perfect, of course. She can’t go a week without having a night where she can’t sleep, and the crying just sort of happens all over. But still.

That’s the bit she wishes people would have told her about – the way she can be minding her own business, living her own life, and something will pop up. A memory, a dream, whatever, and then she’ll have to excuse herself from the people she is around and find a closet. The loo is always an option, but people notice if someone has broken down crying in the loo, and once they figure out it’s her Lily can never get the people to go away. She once tried Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, but the little brat wouldn’t stop commenting on what an ugly crier Lily is, so that was not repeated. Now she always goes for a closet, or possibly a cupboard. Someplace where she can be alone as she collapses and sobs and fucking moans.

So yes, that part has been a constant, lodged itself into her being from the moment James’ body hit the ground. But April brings new sadness, something more and much worse that she cannot explain, because if she did people would probably say she needs to be sent away.

She’s thought about killing herself a couple of times. That’s the big one. Not in a real way, of course, it’s always hypothetical. _What if I jumped, what if I made a potion, what if I used this knife that I am cutting vegetables with for something else_. She’ll think it for a fraction of a second and then shake her head, say _no_ over and over in her head. Nothing ever comes of it, and somehow Lily knows ( _hopes hopes hopes_ ) nothing ever will, but still. She misses not being this sad, misses the time when she was younger and the sadness wasn’t so much, so intense.

The only person who she thinks could possibly understand her is Sirius. He has sadness as well, goes out and gets pissed all the damn time, brings home different girls. James was the other half of both of them, and as such, they’re the only people in the world she thinks who truly get each other, completely and utterly.

She’s pretty sure there are rumors at the ministry that they’re sleeping together, which Lily finds amusing for a number of reasons. Sirius is her brother, for all intents and purposes, so the idea of fucking him is sort of disgusting, but also they’re the same person. Outside people don’t get it, of course, but they are. They think the same things and they have the same cruelness in them, and it’s why they both needed James in their lives with such an intensity.

“Shove over,” she says to him in the dark one night. He’s in his room, in his bed, and Lily is climbing in.

Sirius is groggy and confused for only a few moments before he realizes what’s happened. Even in the darkness she can see the quizzical look on his face.

“I can’t sleep,” she gives as an explanation. “I kept on having the same fucking dream about James, about our first kiss in that one corridor, and well.”

Lily doesn’t mention the fact that she had one of her bad thoughts earlier this evening, the ones that are short and dangerous and ugh, _no!_ , but somehow she thinks he knows.

“What about Harry?” he asks, and Lily holds up the baby-monitor she had set on the bedside table. He nods.

They do this sometimes, climb into each other’s bed in the middle of the night. It had started after times that they had gotten right pissed – Sirius accidently smashing bottles, Lily falling down in the middle of the street. They’d stumble home and fall asleep, wake to find the other snoring besides them. It’s comforting, but in a different way than how it was when it was James.

Lily and James would arrive home from missions, violent attacks, and they would lay in bed and think about how completely shitty the world was – how they had been driven to do horrifying things, how they could barely look at themselves in the mirror. But there was comfort in it – in the idea that they were doing it together, that they had another person who got the violent absurdity of what their lives had become.

(“We’re going to fucking hell for that,” she had said one night after a particularly nasty fight. The blood of her opponent – who wasn’t dead, mind you, but also probably wouldn’t ever be able to walk again – was all over her hands, over her chin. James had a busted lip, a dirty slash through his arm that he was holding tenderly.

“Probably,” he’d said, sucking on his lip, a fag in his mouth. He’d gotten them glasses of whiskey then, and Lily drowned hers in fell swoop. “But at least we’ll be there together,” he then told her with a smirk. “So it can’t be that bad.”

She’d laughed at that, and when they fucked a little while later she had enjoyed the taste of blood on his tongue. Now James is dead and Lily is alive, and she can’t think about that conversation without feeling a pang in the pit of her stomach.)

Lily and James were two people who fit perfectly together, who were the same kind of disgusting. They were both capable of so much, more than either of them were really comfortable with, and they took a kind of solace in each other, in the fact that without even trying they had an understanding. James and Sirius were brothers through and through, the kind who would fight for each other, and sweat blood and tears in the name of friendship. It was visceral and so much, the way they would jump on each other and drunkenly finish each other’s sentences because they were so much the same.

Lily and Sirius are a lot of things. They’re like brother and sister as well, obviously, but she also thinks they might be two sides of the same coin. They share a mind, a kinship. People think her and Remus have a similar sensibility, but really, the egotism, the violent personality – that’s who she really is, and that’s all her and Sirius. That used to be all they were, really: there was love, but it was jokes and drinks and drugs, and long discussions about music and how The Clash was the greatest thing to ever hit the world. They were chums, in every sense of the word. The two great loves of James Potter.

Now, they’re the same because they’ve felt the same loss, have the same sense of pain. They’re hallow in all the same places.

Now, Lily’s big secret is that she doesn’t think she’d be able to live without him – without knowing that somebody else on the planet understands the way her heart can suddenly rip open at the seams.

“Do you think it’ll ever get better,” she asks him now, in 1982. They’re both half asleep and lazy and looking up at the ceiling, and it’s a full minute before he answers.

“I don’t know… it’ll never be the same.” He turns to face her and runs a hand through her hair. “But we’ve got each other. That’s not nothing.”

It’s not nothing. The words keep repeating themselves in her mind. _It’s not nothing, it’s not nothing, it’s not it’s not it’s not_

Well, sure, maybe. It’s not nothing.

But it’s hardly everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point I'll probably need to make a playlist with the soundtrack for this thing, cause there is a lot, but especially the above song "The Good That Won't Come Out" (and like, everything on that album tbh... but also really that damn song). The most Lily-in-this-verse song to ever exist.


	9. may

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remus, the full moon, and lily worrying

> "I take for granted that you're always there  
> I take for granted that you just don't care"
> 
> \- Todd Rundgren, "Hello It's Me"

 

The full moons are always the worst times.

This isn’t exactly a new affliction, of course, though Lily has never lived in such close quarters with Remus, and as such, had rarely been a part of these things first-hand. She’d put the pieces together by the start of her second year – tracked the moon cycle for a few months, kept a diary of when Remus wasn’t in class – but she was never a part of it in the way the boys were.

He never tells them where it is he goes during this time; her and Sirius have narrowed it down to a couple of different forests, but they’re still having trouble pinning it. He’ll usually only be gone for a night or two, but it’s always tense and stressful. Sirius had begged him in the beginning to let him go with him, and every once in a while Remus will allow it, but it’s rare. He’ll go on and on about not wanting to take a toll on anyone else’s lives anymore, as if Padfoot doesn’t love running around with a werewolf.

So he mostly goes alone, and Sirius and Lily spend the nights wandering their flats pacing, worried sick. Usually at around ten there will be the sound of a door slamming, and then another, and Lily will know that that Sirius has stormed down to the pub, tired of pacing around his living room doing nothing. Lily will want to join him, of course, but she’ll look to the side and see little Harry giggling at the telly. So she’ll go for the bottle of wine.

It’s mid-May 1982, warm enough that Lily can sit on her fire escape without a sweater. She’s smoking a fag and drinking a glass of wine at the same time. This always gives her awful flashbacks of visiting her Aunt Beth as a child – terrible woman, really. Would chain-smoke through their entire stay whilst going through bottle after bottle, never missing an opportunity to mention how grateful she was for never having children. Lily remembers reciting these stories to Severus when they were kids, and the cheeky way he would always compare Petunia to her aunt. How ironic that it’s barely been a decade since then and Petunia doesn’t smoke (often) and pretends to hate alcohol, and Lily is the one with the problems.

At least she can say she likes kids. That’s a plus.

But it’s the second night he’s been gone. Lily really isn’t a fan of worrying – she hates being the one who is afraid, the girl who has to say _but what a minute_ to everything – but, well, this is worrisome after all. She knows it would be smarter to just go to bed at this point; he’ll probably be back by morning, she can just go pass out and wake up and he’ll be sound asleep in his room. It’s late though, and Lily knows that if she tries to sleep she won’t, will just toss and turn in her own sweat. So she’ll wait up for him, stay awake until she hears his door slamming. Right now she will sit out on the fire escape, and when her cig is done she’ll watch the late night shows on the telly. It’s fine. It’s becoming routine, is what it is.

Just then, her door swings open, but it’s with such enthusiasm and energy that Lily knows it can’t be Remus. Instead, Sirius comes stumbling into her flat, a wide weird smile on his face, and Lily knows exactly what this is.

“You’re drunk,” she says offhandedly, stabbing out her cigarette and stepping inside, leaving the window open because she likes the breeze.

“You’re very astute, Ms. Potter.” He’s laughing a little, running a hand through his hair. “You waiting up for Moony, are you now? He’s told us not to do that.”

She shrugs. “Well, Moony isn’t here right now. And I wouldn’t have to wait up if he would just let me try to brew him some of that wolfsbane stuff.”

“He doesn’t want to cause any unnecessary worry,” Sirius says, but he’s practically snorting. He pauses for a moment, looking her over in that way that he does when he’s drunk and has an idea. He drinks too often these days, she knows that, but some days Lily can’t blame him: he’s so fucking full of life when he’s drunk, so much all the damn time. Lily’s like that too, she knows. James used to say that a party wasn’t a real party until both Lily and Sirius were pissed. They’re the best when they’re drunk together, especially during those times when James and Remus and Peter were drunk as well. But in truth, they were always the key parts, they were what got things started.

Lily isn’t like that much these days, except when she is, of course. Now, on the nights when she is good, she will just sip on glasses of wine all night, watching programs on the telly and collapsing into bed at earlier hours than she’d care to admit. So it’s Sirius’ job to get fun, piss drunk for the both of them. He seems to be taking his new job in stride.

He’s still staring at her now, that same look about him. “Care for a dance?”

Lily laughs, putting her face in her hand. “There’s no music, Sirius.”

A finger put up, telling her to wait. He runs to his room, and she can hear him scrambling, searching for something in his drunken state. Lily sighs, finishes off her drink, and a moment later he emerges with a record.

“You’ll wake Harry, you know,” but she’s setting down her drink and standing up.

He blows her off with a hand as he puts on the music, and a moment later “Hello It’s Me” by Todd Rundgren starts playing. “Come on then,” he says, taking her hand.

When she steps in closer and they start swaying, she can smell the alcohol on his breath. “You’re very drunk,” she says.

“And you’re very nosy, but you don’t see me pointing it out the time.” He says this with one of his big smirks, twirling her around a moment later, and Lily thinks that this is the problem: she loves him too much, loves the way he makes jokes and takes the piss and says the wrong thing that she’s always thinking.

“I’m your best friend,” he says then. “It’s quite sad, really.”

Lily snorts. “True. It’s not a fair trade. You’ve got me as your best mate, and I’m fantastic.”

“You’re alright.” He spins her around again

“And what am I,” comes another voice from the door. “Shite?”

Remus comes into the flat then, beat up and sleepy, a new scar on his right cheek. He looks just a little bit awful, but he’s smiling, watching them dance.

“You’re dramatic is what you are,” Sirius burls, and Remus and Lily laugh at the pissed way he goes about it, before singing along to his favorite bit of the song.

“I’m making you that potion next month,” Lily says to Remus, and when he shakes his head and begins to decline, she rolls her eyes. “I don’t care what your opinion on the matter is, to be quite frank. I was the best in our year at potions, and I’ll force feed it to you during your sleep if you have to.”

The look he gives her is one of absolute and utter affection. Sirius is stilled wasted, howling the song besides them.

“You won’t have to force-feed me, I suppose,” he says.

She thinks they make a sweet kind of family.


	10. june

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lily tries to get a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I should probably apologize for the fact that I haven't updated this in literal months (remember this? does anyone?). I made the very dumb decision of starting a long-ish fic right before the most stressful time of the school year, so that's on me. But I basically have the rest of it written, so I should be posting regularly until it's finished.

The thing about it is that it’s not an impulse decision at all, despite the fact that the idea doesn’t occur to her until about five minutes before it’s made. It’s been brewing for a while now, sizzling even. She just hadn’t put the pieces together.

“I think I need a job,” she says one afternoon, walking into Sirius’ flat. He’s lying upside down on his couch reading a copy of Rolling Stone.

“What for?” He looks like a confused little child. “You’ve got money.”

That part is true. Of the many worries Lily Potter has had to deal with in the last six months, financial issues have not been one of them. And Lily is well aware that the only people who don’t think much about money are the people who have money.

That’s not what this is about. “I know that,” she says. “But I still need a job.”

“Why?”

Lily pauses, thinks of the right way to phrase it. “My own sanity.” Sirius gives her a perplexed look, and she continues. “All I’ve done for the last six months is sit around and cry and mourn my dead husband and care for my child.”

“We’ve also gotten right pissed together a few times, don’t forget that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’ve also gotten very drunk with you on multiple occasions. Still not a particularly productive use of my time, I don’t think.”

Sirius gives her a look, the kind that says he’s going to pretend not to know what she’s talking about for longer than necessary. She goes and sits by him on the couch, snatching his magazine. “I need to have structure and a life and fucking do something. Not that raising Harry isn’t enough, because it is. But for me, after everything that has happened… I need something else as well.”

It seems like he’s finally taking her seriously, because Sirius sits up at this point, taking the magazine back and throwing it on the coffee table. “What are you thinking about.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’ll be a secretary.”

“A what?”

“It’s a muggle job,” she explains. “You sit in an office and answers phones.”

The look he is giving her right now says that he does not get it in the least. “You want a muggle job?”

Lily sighs. “After everything that has happened, I don’t really think I can work in the wizarding community, at least for a while,” she muses. “And since I haven’t gone to proper uni, it’s not like I would be qualified for anything too high up in the muggle world, but that’s okay, I don’t really care. I want something small, you know, not too much. Just a life outside of this flat.”

At this, Sirius chuckles, getting up off the couch and going over to the kitchen counter. “You should have led with that part, Lils,” he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “If you want a life outside of this flat, all you have to do is start dating again.”

Lily feels sick. “We’re not there yet,” she says, shaking her head.

“You know, just because I was James’ best friend does not mean I am going to be weird about you meeting someone new,” he says, sitting on the stool, and at the very least Lily appreciates his sentiment. “Honestly. Your happiness is my happiness.”

“Duly noted,” she says, biting her lip. “But really, I’m good for now. A steady income is what would make me happy at the moment.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said it wasn’t about the money.”

“It’s not,” she says. “It’s the sentiment behind the money that I’m after.”

 

 

 

“So, no previous experience, I see.” The woman’s nose seems to so high in the air that if Lily didn’t know any better she would mistake her for Petunia. The nasty look she’s shooting Lily also helps with the resemblance. “And no uni.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind there is a bitchy comment, but Lily hold it in, gives a closed-mouth smile. “I’ve worked in retail.”

Evidently this isn’t that impressive, though Lily thinks that her summers working at the local record shop had been a great learning experience. For instance, she’d learned the best ways to get old men to bugger off when they wouldn’t stop hitting on her. Classic and lifelong skills right there.

The woman sitting in the desk in front of her clearly does not agree. “Yes, I saw,” she says, pointing to the (very brief) resume Lily had handed her. “In fact, it appears that you haven’t worked since then.”

Lily continues to force a smile, feeling the cheap fabric of her button up rub at her sides. “I was married,” she blurts out without thinking, as if it’s an excuse.

“Was?” the woman questions, judgement in her voice, and oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. Lily’s not… she’s not going to pull that card, not here. Her husband has been deceased for only six months, and she’s not going to use his death to help her get a muggle job that she doesn’t even need. That’s not… she isn’t…

“He died,” she says, mentally slapping herself in the face as the words come out. “Car crash, last October.”

This is bad, this is very bad. This is not right and it’s not moral and god, Lily really shouldn’t be this kind of person. When exactly did she become this kind of person?

The woman in front of her – a Ms. Smeal – does act appropriately, which is to say that she is suddenly very apologetic and kind, offering Lily a piece of hard candy and looking over her resume again as if it doesn’t take two seconds to read the whole thing. _Fuck_ , this is why she wanted a bloody muggle job in the first place, so she wouldn’t have to deal with shit like this. What the bloody hell is wrong with her?

“Well, you know, it’s really not that hard a job,” Ms. Smeal is saying now with a sympathetic smile. “I mean, you don’t really need any prior experience to answer phones.”

She gives a forced laugh at this, and Lily joins, doing her best not to stare at the pin on Mrs. Smeal’s blazer, which appears to be beetle. It’s quite possibly the ugliest thing she’s ever seen, and on second thought, this woman and Petunia are nothing alike. Tuney would never wear that color.

And then, the woman is standing up and looking through a planner. “Why don’t we get you in for training next week? It should only take an hour or so, and then I think it would be easy enough to get you on the schedule for a bit, see how you fair?”

The moral ambiguity of attaining a job because of her dead husband is not lost on Lily, nor is the knowledge that many other qualified people probably applied for this position as well. Lily isn’t saying it is right, of course, but really in the grand scheme of bad things she could be doing, this can’t be that high.

Still, just as Lily is about to leave the woman’s office, a thought occurs and she knows she has to roll with it.

“Could you, um,” she starts, trying her best to look flimsy and nervous (she is of course, as most everyone knows, neither of those things). “Could you please not mention it to the other people in the office? The dead husband part, I mean.”

The woman sweetly nods her head, and Lily feels a pang of relief. She barely even knows what it is they sell here (actually, she does know – it’s bags. They sell shipments of bags), but at the very least, she won’t have to deal with the pity shit.

_God_ , she thinks as she smokes a fag in her car. When the hell did that become her silver lining?


End file.
